Atsumu rides him, fully seated, legs curled beneath him on either side of Kiyoomi’s hips - moving slow and easy, hot and languid, his body barely rising, falling. His hands bracket Kiyoomi’s temples against the top of the headboard for leverage. +
He pants, his nose brushing against Kiyoomi’s jaw, swallows Kiyoomi’s name in favor of indistinct moans.
But then Kiyoomi’s hands kiss bruises into Atsumu’s hips, pink to purple to black to blue over time. Time and again. And again.
“Say you’re mine,” Kiyoomi orders. +
“Yours,” Atsumu gasps out. “I’m yours, Omi.”
Kiyoomi flips them, shoves Atsumu roughly onto his back, and spreads those thick thighs wide across his forearms. +
He drives hard into him again, the sound raw and slick from lube and precome, the slap of their skin growing louder in his desperation to reach the pinnacle of this feeling - at just the right moment. +
“Only mine,” he says, voice urgent as he watches Atsumu arch his back into it, expose his neck, squeeze his eyes tight. “Say it.”
Happy birthday to the wonderful @ChaoticFriendly! Here’s a little thing to celebrate this, the day of your birth, and I’m so happy to have your Suga kinnie self in my life. 🥰
Iwaizumi sighs and sets his menu down. “I paid attention. I answered your stupid question. What else do you want from me?” +
“A lot more than /that/,” Oikawa says. He sits back and raises a finger. “Consider this!” He ignores the sigh from the other side of the table and goes on, “Daichi’s on patrol. Suga gets home after school +